Stories Untold
by StarryEve17
Summary: Missing scenes throughout the series, delving a little deeper into what actually happened. Shows the boys taking care of each other as they struggle with both emotional and physical pain. You want hurt Winchesters, you've come to the right place. Chapter 1: Pilot. Dean takes care of an injured Sam, who is still trying to come to terms with Jessica's death.


**Hello! Here's just a quick explanation of what I'm planning on doing here. There were so many times throughout the series that the brothers were either physically and/or emotionally hurt, and it was never really compromised. So, I plan to fix that:) So here's a series of oneshots that tie some loose ends and gives us a good dose of hurt Sam and Dean:) They will be in chronological order. Hope you enjoy!**

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"Sam? You okay?"

_No. I'm not._

"Yeah."

Dean didn't believe him.

"You know, we could stay for her funeral if—"

"No."

Silence.

He could still remember her screams. The fear in her eyes as the flames consumed her. The smell of burning flesh…

The same thing had happened to their mother.

"We're here."

Sam didn't move.

"C'mon Sammy. You need some sleep."

"I can't sleep." _Because I'll see it. All over again. And this time, I'll know that I don't have another chance to save her. _

"Yes you can." Dean reached in a hoisted Sam out of the passenger seat. "Get your ass up. That bitch in white clawed the crap out of you. We gotta get you patched up."

The brothers staggered to the motel room door. Sam dropped heavily onto the furthest bed. He vaguely heard Dean's command to remove his shirt. Sam did as he was told, biting down his pain as the fabric pulled away from dried blood.

"Dammit." Dean muttered as five deep puncture wounds came into view. "We should've taken care of this sooner." The elder Winchester scrambled in search of the first aid kit. "Why didn't you say anything, Sammy? Those could get infected."

"It doesn't matter."

Dean gaped incredulously at his younger brother. "Doesn't matter?" Sam blinked. "What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter?" Anger at his brother's utter stupidity was threatening to rise to the surface.

"Because she's gone."

"Jessica? Just because she's gone doesn't mean that you can completely forget about yourself. You're still alive. There's nothing you can do for Jessica now. But you can help yourself." Sam's tortured gaze didn't meet Dean's eyes. Dean sighed. "Look, I know how much she meant to you. I know how hard it is to lose someone—"

"No you don't!" Sam shouted, shooting up from the bed. He didn't care that the movement aggravated his wounds. "You have no idea what it's like to lose _anyone. _Sure, you lost Mom. So did I! But that was over _20 years ago, _Dean. Do you even remember what happened that night? Or do you just conjure up memories from what Dad told you?"

Dean was shocked into silence. His mouth opened as if to say something, but his jaw tensed as he bit down his words.

"I'll take care of myself." Sam stormed past his brother and into the bathroom, slamming the door closed. He needed to clear his head. He splashed cold water onto his face. The liquid trailed down his chest and onto his bloody wounds. He couldn't feel the pain. Not when the emotional pain trumped every other sensation.

_She's dead. I could've stopped it. But I didn't. I couldn't protect her and now she's dead. _

Jessica had burned to death.

Sam fell to the floor in front of the toilet as bile forced its way up his throat and into the basin. He didn't hear as Dean pounded on the door, demanding entry. Tears streamed down his face as he choked down sobs. When his stomach was through purging itself, he curled against the wall and cried.

Sam didn't register as his older brother kicked the door in. He didn't see as Dean knelt down on the floor next to him. He didn't feel as strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him off the floor. He didn't process that he was being led from the bathroom and onto his bed. He didn't hear as soft, loving words were spoken to him, reassuring him.

He couldn't feel or think anything but the fact that _he had failed Jessica. _He had known, and he had let her die.

Dean propped a pillow beneath his brother's head, and began cleaning out the wounds. Sam's cries had subsided, but the tears still trailed down his cheeks.

Dean wanted to do more. He wanted to comfort his damaged brother. He wanted to heal him. But he knew that the only thing that could possibly bring his brother comfort at this time was Jessica. And that broke his heart more than anything. The simple fact that Sam found someone else to make him happy. Sam left his family without a second thought. He found someone else who gave him a sense of security. And that someone wasn't his brother. Sam no longer needed Dean.

Dean was happy that Sam had found someone. A girl as beautiful and bright on the inside as she was out. She made Sam happy. That's all that Dean ever wanted for his brother. To find happiness in a dying world. Secretly, he wanted that for himself. He wanted to have a life that wasn't consumed by darkness and death. He wanted to have a wife and children. He wanted a family. He wanted a steady career where the perks weren't just girls and booze and his specialty wasn't killing monsters.

But most of all, he wanted Sam back.

He would give up _everything _just to have his brother by his side.

Physically, Sam was back. But he wasn't truly _there. _And after this, after what happened, Dean didn't know if he would ever really have his little brother back.

"Dean?" Sam's choked words brought Dean out of his reverie. He glanced away from his careful ministrations on Sam's injured chest, his eyes resting on his brother's face. "I—I'm sorry…about what I said. I didn't mean—"

"Sammy." Dean interrupted, his voice firm. "It's okay."

There was no way that Dean would ever tell Sam that he was wrong. He would never tell Sam what he actually saw that night. He would never speak of how he watched as his mother's body burned on the ceiling. He would never tell how he caught a glimpse of a dark figure moving in the flames as he carried his baby brother outside. Sam would never know that Dean remembered everything.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered. Dean didn't know who he was apologizing to.

"Don't be." Dean said, stitching the last of the wounds with skilled hands.

He covered Sam's chest with thick pads of gauze, and drew the covers carefully over his young brother. Sleep finally overcame the younger Winchester, and his eyes slipped closed. His hand rested gently on Sam's forehead.

"It'll all be better when you wake up. You'll see. I promise."

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**Please review! And let me know if there's anything you'd like to see! Up next, Wendigo! Get ready for some hurt!Dean:) **


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